The house is cold when I go back inside. It’s probably as different from the sweat lodge heat as I can imagine. Alan is going to be naked in there. I will not imagine that. Nope. No. Not imagining. I turn up the thermostat that’s on the wall by the couch. The furnace kicks in. That’s when I realize it: the house is supernaturally cold.
For a second I think about going back outside and getting Alan, but he has to do the ceremony. That means I have to deal with the house, with Courtney. Hopefully, there is nothing to deal with.
“Aimee.”
I jump about twenty feet into the air. It’s just Courtney, though. She’s at the top of the stairs, waiting.
“Hey.” I wave at her. “You scared me.”
“Are you coming upstairs?” she asks.
“Yeah. Sorry. I was turning the heat up, and—”
“Come on,” she interrupts. She steps down the hall, out of sight.
My flesh gets all goose bumpy. I rub my arms and head up the stairs after her. My gut tells me things are not good. Things are all wrong, in fact. I take the steps two at a time. Court’s standing at the end of the hallway. It smells up here.
My gut told me right.
It’s that same horrible rotting smell. I cover my mouth and nose with my hand, but it’s not enough. I gag.
“Aimee …” Her voice is both a whimper and whisper. A plea. Everything in my body shakes when I see her. She’s trembling. She looks terribly small and so easy to break.
“Courtney? Honey?”
“Aimee … he’s … he’s here.” She shivers.
I rush down the hall. “I know. I know. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
My words are hopeless promises out in the middle of the hall. They drift there for a moment, then flit away to nothing.
I grab her by the arms. Her sores are coming back.
“Is my face …?” she asks.
I put my hand against her cheek. “I’ll heal you in a sec, okay?”
“Okay.” She is almost floppy, like a stuffed animal standing there. There’s no fight in her. She’s already given in.
“Court, honey, you need to fight him. I don’t know how. I don’t know what it’s like, the stuff going on inside you right now, but you have to fight him.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know, sweetie. I know.” I hope Alan’s ceremony is going well, and I hope it’s going quickly. I remember what it was like in school when Court threw Alan across the cafeteria. “I’m going to tie you up. Just in case.”
That gets her attention. Her head snaps up straight and she stares at me, totally confused. “You’re going to what?”
“Tie you up. Okay?” I show her the rope. “I have to. In case he—”
“In case he takes me over?” she interrupts. Her face pales. It makes the sores stand out even more.
The smell increases.
Something in my skin prickles.
He’s here. I can feel him.
The evil of him permeates everything. It’s a shadow behind me, filling the air. It’s not just a smell; it’s a presence, a weight against my soul.
I don’t know what to use for padding, but I have to do something so the rope doesn’t chafe Court’s skin too badly. I rip off my shoes and drop them on the floor. Then I go for my socks. “I’m sorry if they smell.”
She half chokes, half laughs. “It’s not as bad as him. But you could just wait until we get in my bedroom and get some of my clean socks out of the closet.”
“True.” I wrap the socks around Court’s wrists. “But I’m afraid to wait.”
“You’re shaking,” she says.
“So are you.”
Her voice is suddenly strong, but it’s still her voice. “Tie me tight, Aimee. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Our eyes meet for a second. “I don’t want to hurt you, either,” I say.
The house shudders. Court’s body jerks. I wrap the rope around her wrists and secure them together with a square knot. Her body jerks again and I catch her as she falls. I was going to tie her to the bed, but I don’t think there’s time.
“He’s close,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with fear. “He’s—”
Something smacks me in the back. Pain ripples through me. I shove Court down the hallway wall. “Into your room. Quick.”
We run across the wood floor, slipping on the rug, trying to get away. Pictures are flying off the wall. Glass shatters. A picture frame jabs Court in the face. She is screaming. I’m grabbing her around the waist and pulling her into the room. Another picture hits me in the shoulder.
I slam the door. It shudders and groans. I throw myself against it.
“Aimee!” Courtney hunkers in the corner. Her hands are tied in front of her. Her eyes frantically search for something. “I don’t want him! I don’t want him, Aimee!”
“Fight him.”
“I can’t!”
“Fight him!” I order.
The door wobbles more behind me. I brace myself, trying to keep it shut. The wood splinters a little. Pieces of it pierce my skin. I groan. It’s such a losing fight.
“Aimee!” Court curls up in a ball. Her hands scratch at her face.
The door is still. He’s here. I scurry toward her and try to pull her hands away from her cheeks. Deep gashes mar her skin. Blood drips. She resists me, pulling. No, that’s wrong. He resists.
“Hello, crazy whore … Just like your mother,” she says. It’s not her voice. It’s his voice: low and evil.
Anger swells up in me. Not fear, anger. “Let her go.”
Her eyes narrow. She laughs.
I’m yanking at Court’s hands, trying to pull them away. Court kicks out. Her feet make contact with my hip and my stomach. It’s powerful. I stagger back and hit the wall. All the wind rushes out of me.
She smiles and stands up. “You can’t fight me.” She pulls at her wrists, increasing the tension on the rope. “Even with this on, I can kill you.”
I swallow hard, staggering up. I imagine white light. I imagine how much I love Alan, how much I love Courtney, how much I loved my mom. This—this is what killed my mom. Anger fills me. Anger at the pain and the loss.
He makes Court laugh. He makes Court smile and take a step toward me. “You could have saved him, you know? The one I took.”
“Chris Paquette,” I whisper.
“You could have saved him if you went in the water, but you didn’t. You were too afraid.” Another step closer.
I pull myself up, pressing my back into the door for support and balance. I point at him. “Shut up.”
Another step closer.
Another smile.
I don’t move. “No.”
Despair shimmies through my blood. That’s what he wants: despair. I won’t give it to him. Instead I look for light—the white light. My hands. My power. I helped Court before. I can do it again. I lift my palms, pointing them toward her. I focus. White light. Healing. Love. My voice is more powerful than I expect. “Get out of my friend.”
He says nothing.
“I can make it hard for you. I can fight you, make you weak.” I focus all my thoughts on healing, on surrounding Courtney with the white light. My body shakes from the strain. I know I can’t last long, but I know I have to. It’ll help Alan. It’ll help Courtney. It has to. But it costs. Magic? Power? It doesn’t come cheap.
Court’s body jumps back a little. “Stop it!”
I don’t say anything. Focus. I just focus.
“I said, STOP IT!” she orders.
The door behind me is breaking apart. A piece of it flings into me. The wood stakes itself into my arm. The pain is intense. Still, I don’t even rip it out. I keep my hands outstretched.
“DO NOT PROVOKE ME!” Courtney/the River Man screams.
My hands shake from the force, from the power. My heart rate is up to five hundred beats a minute or something. I can feel the power welling inside me, focusing, but at the same time it drains me.
It’s worth it. It’s worth it to save Court.
“Courtney! Fight him!”
He makes her laugh.
“I love you, Courtney!” I scream. She looks up at me, and for a second it’s her eyes I see again. “I love you!” I scream. “Help me! Mom! Help me!”
I don’t know why I yell for her, for my mother, but I do. And then it’s like hands are on my shoulders. The smell of vanilla is in the room with us.
“Fight him!” I insist. “Help me fight him.”
Wood and plaster squeals. Court shudders, collapses on the floor next to her fluffy blue rug, then gasps. The house shakes. I am falling down, too, dead tired. The smell of vanilla is growing fainter.
“Mom,” I whisper. “Mom …”
But nobody answers.